


In Battle, In Bed

by holliswrites



Category: The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: BDSM, Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Bottom Natasha, Dom!Steve, Dom/sub, Dominance, Dominant Steve, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Face-Fucking, Oral Sex, PWP, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safewords, Shameless Smut, Spanking, Submission, The Author Regrets Nothing, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-08
Updated: 2013-09-08
Packaged: 2017-12-25 23:41:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/958985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holliswrites/pseuds/holliswrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You speak so many languages, Natasha. But there are only two that you really understand.  The language of fighting, and the language of fucking. And not everyone speaks those languages in your dialect. Not everyone gets your need for someone who can master that dialect. Lucky for you, I know both those languages. You yielded to me in the fight, and you’ll yield to me over and over, in my bed.”</p><p>In which Steve decides that it's time to address why Natasha has been so standoffish towards him. The solution will be a very satisfactory one for both of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Battle, In Bed

 

In the days and nights that followed after the Chitauri invasion, amidst the flurry of PR and repairs and debriefings that filled his days and nights, and the unnervingly fast way in which he and the rest of his team found themselves firmly ensconced in Tony’s Tower, Steve didn’t, at first, notice. Completely aside from all of the activity with SHIELD and the Avengers that demanded most of his waking hours, Steve still needed to focus on bringing himself up to speed. At the end of the day, he was a fairly pragmatic and even optimistic person, and his choice was simple: he was in a new century, he had been given another chance to serve America, he needed to adapt.

So he adapted.

But after a few weeks had passed, after all of the initial rescue efforts had ceased, after they settled into their floors in the Tower and began to adjust to each other, Steve couldn’t help but to notice Natasha’s strange behavior. And he couldn’t help but to be bothered by it.

It was nothing overt; it was more in what she _didn’t_ do. With Clint, she was easy and familiar, even a tiny bit mother-henish at times. Bruce, she treated with grave respect and an off-handed kindness. Even around _Tony Stark,_ for the love of God, she was usually tolerant and even sometimes amused. But when she interacted with Steve, there was none of that. She was distant and coldly polite at best; most of the time, she ignored him.

When they worked together, she did her job and she did it well. On the field, she followed his orders, even. But there was a tension, almost a _sullenness_ to her, when she did. And once they were off the field, back in their Tower or at SHIELD headquarters, she would revert to her previous cold demeanor--except for the occasional time in which she obliquely questioned his orders and the way he had proceeded.

Needless to say, Steve was at first bewildered, and maybe just a little bit hurt by it. The Black Widow was a flawless professional, or so he’d been told. And he wasn’t a horrible person, or leader, at least he didn’t think so. But as the weeks passed, and her behavior didn’t change, Steve’s reactions _did_ change. Bewilderment changed into an ever-growing hunch. And hurt changed to anger.

But Steve was a tactician. And he was a patriot, and a soldier, and an Avenger, and he cared for his team members--all of them. So he waited, and observed, and contemplated, and planned. And then, one day, finally, his anger and his plans intersected.

 

* * *

Of course, the Tower boasted a gym--custom-designed by Steve and Tony and JARVIS, with Natasha and Clint providing plenty of input. It was enormous, of course, and outfitted with everything from Steve’s special punching bags to Bruce’s favorite yoga mats to Tony’s boxing ring. Shortly after Tony had (quite vocally and proudly) hacked into SHIELD’s files on Natasha, a large corner of the gym had been converted into a ballet studio, complete with barres, mirrors, and sprung marley flooring.

And that was where she was at when Steve walked into the gym on the evening when everything changed.

Natasha didn’t look up or over when Steve came in, nor did she respond to his greeting; she simply continued doing her stretching and bending. And normally, Steve would let it slide, but this evening was different. Their floors in the Tower were empty--Tony was with Pepper in Malibu, tending to their relationship and his company; Clint was on a mission somewhere; Bruce had taken off for a lengthy trip to India, where he wanted to wrap up a few loose ends. No one had yet heard from Thor. So that left just Steve and Natasha rattling about in the Tower, and this was going on the third day, and Steve was beginning to get a little bit sick of the unnecessary silence and loneliness.

So he came over and stood at the edge of the flooring, watching Natasha.

And she still ignored him.

Finally, he spoke. “What is it that you’re doing?”

Not even Natasha was rude enough to ignore a direct question from him. “Pliés.” Still, she didn’t look at him. Nor did she extrapolate beyond this. She just continued on with her stretches, for all intents and purposes completely indifferent to his presence.

Steve was undeterred. “Do you do them often?”

“When I want to.” Natasha straightened up and turned her back to him, which should have been a rather effective gesture of disrespect, except for the fact that Natasha was then facing the mirror--and thus was facing Steve, in the reflection, standing a bit behind her, his arms folded.

Their eyes met in the mirror, locked for a moment before Natasha jerked her gaze away. “Run along, Steve. Maybe your boyfriends will come back and play with you soon, but I’m going to be a grown-up Avenger and actually get a work-out in.”

This was the rudest that she had been to him yet, but Steve simply focused on keeping his breathing even, and quiet, and steady, and held his rising temper down. And then he spoke, and they were words that he had been contemplating for a while. “What’s your problem, Natasha?  Sometimes I’m not sure if you need to get a hard fight or a hard fuck.”

And how about that, Steve had just taken Natasha Romanoff by surprise. She turned around to face him again, and while her face gave away nothing, one of her eyebrows _did_ quirk up, just a little bit.

“A hard fight or a hard fuck, huh?” She thought for a moment. “Maybe both? Damned shame, since there’s no one around that can hold their own with me, in either respect.”

Here was a possible opening, and Steve was quick to avail himself to it. “Is that a challenge?”

“Do you want it to be?”

“I think _you_ do.” Steve allowed himself to assess her, as though considering the odds. “But then...maybe not.”

Natasha’s entire posture and stance had changed; Steve recognized it for the physical manifestation of her mental preparations for a fight. “I’m not afraid of you, Rogers.”

“Maybe you should be.”

He backed up as Natasha began to advance--this was, of course, a strategic move on his part. He wanted them to get to the sparring mat, of course, but also he wanted Natasha to think she was the one on the offense--until he let her realize that she wasn’t.

Once they were on the mat, this pattern continued: Natasha would surge forward with a series of vicious strikes and kicks, moving  in with blinding speed, and then dancing out of Steve’s reach. He blocked most of her blows; a few of them hit their mark. Mainly, Steve was on the defensive, but every now and then he would go on the offensive--he didn’t want her to figure out his approach.

Time passed--how much, Steve didn’t know, didn’t bother to keep track, and at no point did JARVIS chime in. Steve simply focused on sticking with his plan, letting Natasha continue on with her quick movements and her misguided confidence. She was smaller, lighter, faster, yes; but he had more muscle mass, more stamina, and once she started to weary, he had more speed, too.

Of course Natasha started to grow  weary. It took a while, as Steve knew it would, but he knew when it started to happen. He was landing more blows now, and while he was still pulling his punches--unless he was fighting an actual adversary, he _always_ pulled his punches--there was still enough force behind his attacks to make even Natasha realize what she was up against.

But she finally, truly understood when Steve shot his leg out, low, giving a hard, sweeping kick that knocked her legs out from underneath her.

Having seen the Black Widow in action, even Steve had a fraction of a second when--as he watched her feet fly out from underneath and she landed hard, on her back--he was surprised that she allowed this to happen. But then he was back in battle mode, pressing the advantage as he launched himself closer to her and knelt down, his knees straddling either side of her waist as he leaned forward and pressed his arm against her chest, pinning her down to the floormat. “Uncle?”

From where she lay, Natasha stared up at him dispassionately, and she could tell from the slight increase in the pressure of his arm against her that he had allowed himself to be bothered by her detachment. _Good._ The conclusion to all of this may have been foregone from the moment that Steve had thawed out of the ice, but she’d be damned if she’d confirm that. She wasn’t an easy conquest--she’d yet to encounter anyone who _truly_ had conquered her--but she craved a genuine surrender nonetheless.

Did Steve know it? He must have sensed it. What had he said? _“I’m not sure if you need to get a hard fight or a hard fuck.”_

This potent thought came to an abrupt halt as Steve moved his arm further up her chest, pressing harder now, against her throat--just hard enough to remind her of her swindling oxygen supply. _“Natasha,”_ he said, and his voice was little more than a low growl of...what? frustration? need? “Give up.”

It was somewhere between a command and permission. _Give up._ Had he actually read her, read her need, or was she simply looking too much into a simple sparring match? It was a frightening thing to consider. But then Natasha focused on the pressure of Steve’s body pressed up against her, the power that radiated from him, his posture--half-threatening, half-protecting--and she took a blind leap, born of faith and lust and some unnamed, unfathomable motivation that compelled her to simultaneously fight and submit, take and be taken.

_Give up._

She jerked her head once, a brief assent. Steve saw it, felt the uncoiling tension in her muscles, sensed the shift in her defiance. He had given her permission to give up, and now she was giving him permission to go forward.

He didn’t think he’d have to explain to her that once given, permission was difficult to retract.

Of course, now that she had ceded the fight, Steve should have moved back, let her up. But that evening, alone in the Tower, with certain harsh truths exposed, there were different rules afoot. Steve adjusted his position into a crouch, letting Natasha push herself back up on to her elbows, but there was still no question about who was running this show, and Steve’s next words only confirmed it.

“You speak so many languages, Natasha. But there are only two that you really _understand._  The language of fighting, and the language of fucking. And not everyone speaks those languages in your dialect. Not everyone gets your need for someone who can master that dialect. Lucky for you, girl, I know both those languages. You yielded to me in the fight, and you’ll yield to me over and over, in my bed.”

Only then did Steve move back and resume his standing position, hoisting Natasha up as he did. She was a sight--her chest still rose and fell with heavy breathing, a light sheen of sweat covered her skin, and her hair was slipping out of her ponytail. Steve was torn between wanting to tuck the stray hair behind her ear and wanting to yank, hard, on her ponytail to bring her to heel.

“Go clean up, rest a little,” he told her, and his voice had that commanding quality that nonetheless seemed caressing. “Come to my floor if you decide you want this. But think about it--because once you come to me, I won’t be turning you loose that easily.”

* * *

 

_If you decide you want this._

Deciding meant that Natasha had a choice.

But as she rode the elevator down to Steve’s floor a couple of hours later, she found herself acknowledging that maybe, she didn’t have a choice. Given her own enhancements, her own background and training, her own psychology, maybe this was the only option, this strange, twilight world that was a culmination of the simultaneous longing and resentment she had harbored towards Steve since he had first come into the picture. She had struggled against the desire, denied the primal urge to come to him, to see what he could offer and what he would take, to see if Steve could be, would be stronger than all of the others that she had fought and seduced and defeated.

She wanted this, yes--and god, a part of her hated that she did--but really, this had nothing to do with choice. The decision had been made the second she had begun to pay attention to Steve Rogers, his vigilance, his sense of control, his focus, his _everything._ It was as though he had arisen as an answer to a supplication she hadn’t hadn’t yet had the courage to articulate.

The elevator floors slid open. Natasha hesitated for just a moment--she could still turn back, and no one would be the wiser except for JARVIS, and herself, and Steve. But Steve _would_ know that she had backed out, and so Natasha’s pride was at stake.

Because she’d rather her pride be broken through submission than through admitting cowardice.

Not great options, at all, but at least one of them had a certain, intense appeal, and offered the potential reward of the physical and psychological satisfaction of sex on the terms she needed--rough and demanding, with someone capable of the dominance, the control, the strength she needed.

Thinking of this, imagining Steve Rogers taking command of her body with single-minded dedication, and the resulting debauching that would come at his hands,  decided it for Natasha. It would be a long time before she’d have an opportunity, or an outlet, like this, and it would be _never again_ before she’d encounter someone like Steve who could give it to her. So she stepped out of the elevator and into Steve’s private floor and private world, feeling somewhat like a sacrificial offering--Andromeda, perhaps, chained to a rock and waiting for the monster to devour her. Although she wasn’t chained to anything. Not yet. And Steve was not devouring her.

Also not yet.

“You came.”

Steve’s voice penetrated her thoughts, which was probably just as well, distracting her from their descent into increasing depravity. And then he was standing in front of her, reaching for her hand, tugging her away from the elevator. Natasha allowed him to do this--and that was one of the last things she was able to choose for herself that night, as she put herself into Steve’s hands and let him take control.

 

 

* * *

 

Up until the  moment that the elevator doors slid open, and Natasha stepped onto his floor, Steve had not permitted himself to truly believe that she would accept his--offer? Demand? Command? But no, here Natasha stood, just in front of the elevator and looking so small and apprehensive that Steve was almost tempted to bundle her away to a safe place, far removed from anything that could threaten her or throw her off of her usual, impenetrable reserve.

Fortunately for what he had planned on, and hoped for, he held this temptation in check. That was not what she needed, and it wasn’t what he wanted.What she needed, and what he wanted, was to have Natasha pinned underneath him, trying to squirm and buck him off of her even as she begged him-- _Dammit._ With an effort, Steve martialled his thoughts into order. He tugged her away from the elevator and deeper into his space, and then, immediately, released her again. “JARVIS,” he said aloud.

“Sir?”

“Lock down access to this floor. Code Yankee Bravo One Nine Four.” He smiled at Natasha for a moment. “Welcome to my floor.” For all the world, it sounded as though he was welcoming Natasha for an evening social event. But then something in his face shifted, and his voice changed, become lower, more commanding. “And you may as well get used to my floor--I’ll be keeping you here for a while. I’m not going to be through with you for a good long time.”

When Natasha didn’t answer, he continued. “You’re on my floor now, and you’ll follow _my_ rules until I decide you can leave.”

Natasha swallowed, more amazed by her own inability to answer than she was by Steve’s demeanor. She was accustomed to being adaptable to _any_ situation, and yet here she was, her brain and body perilously close to short-circuiting with each increasingly seductive, forceful word that came out of Steve’s mouth. And then it occurred to her--of course. She knew Steve, trusted him--at least enough for her to drop her need to be on her guard, ever vigilant, ever adaptable. It was, truly, a simple thing: submit, and relinquish control. He’d tear her apart and yet--he’d keep her safe, like no one else could.

With this newfound knowledge focusing her thoughts--calming her, actually--Natasha found her voice. “What are your rules?”

Steve nodded and Natasha knew her response had been the right one. “Rule one: You strip, and you stay unclothed for me until I give you permission to do otherwise. I want to be able to see you, touch you, take you whenever I want. Number two, you speak when you’re spoken to, and you can call me ‘Sir’. Nothing else. Number three--green, yellow, red, are we clear? Number four--I will use and abuse you here in my space, but--.” He paused, and the momentary silence made his following words all the more important. “But none of that will ever change anything out _there,_ in our work. And number five, if you have any hard limits, now would be the best time to speak up. Because later on, you might not be able to.”

 _Think,_ woman, _think,_ Natasha chided herself. She tried to think about every “kink” she had ever encountered, ever heard of, in the field and in her personal life, all the things she had ever fantasized about, or craved, or feared, or had been forced to endure. “Nothing...nothing with guns.” There were memories, there, Steve could see them lurking in her eyes. “Or knives. And nothing with animals.”

“Consent play? Inflicting pain? Calling you names? Sharing you with others?” Steve observed, watching as his words set off shivers in Natasha.. “I could slap your face. I could tie you up and fuck you, hard, until you don’t know whether you’re begging me to stop or to keep going. There’s a lot there that you didn’t mention.”

Natasha swallowed hard and closed her eyes, trying not to dwell on the images he called forth in her mind. When she opened her eyes again, Steve’s eyes were burning with expectation. “Maybe I don’t want to limit myself.”

Now Steve’s brain was the one that was coming perilously close to short-circuiting as he contemplated this magnificent woman--this most rare conquest--who stood before him. And then all of the possibilities, all of the potential torments he could bring to her, all of them crowded into his head at once. But one thought, one critical thought, was paramount above all the others.

“One problem, pet.” Steve turned and made his way over to an armchair and settled himself down in it, and then snapped his fingers at Natasha. He pointed to the spot in front of him, indicating she was to stand there. “You’ve only been here on my floor several minutes, and you’ve already broken the first rule. I’m only going to say this once more--you strip. _Now.”_

Judging by his unyielding expression, the time for talking and negotiation had passed. For a fleeting moment, Natasha reflected back to to the gym, recalled the brute force with which he had fought and eventually bested her, thought of how that might translate when he was lost in a frenzy of lust. And she wondered what she was getting herself into--

“So it’s like that, huh? You want me to strip you? Rip your clothes off while you struggle?” His voice has gone from commanding to almost amused.

Natasha shook her head silently, sensing that this was a step--being an active party to her own subjugation--that Steve wanted, that she _needed,_ for her to do for herself. So she obeyed, starting with her blouse. Keeping her eyes lowered away from Steve’s unwavering gaze, she began to undo her buttons, slowly undoing one at a time.

Little by little, she began to undo the buttons of her blouse, revealing little glimpses of her pale flesh. But before Natasha had even finished, Steve had grown impatient, for he was leaning forward, slapping her hands away, and performing the rest of the action himself. Under his rough hands, the last few buttons popped away, rattling across the floor as he tore the blouse away from her. Not pausing to admire the generous curves of her breasts, spilling over the top of her lacy, demi-cup bra, Steve redirected his attention to her pants and tugged them down too. Then he returned his attention to her torso and--with surprising deftness--unfastened her bra, letting her breasts bounce free.

 _Now_ he admired Natasha’s breasts, firm and proud and begging for Steve’s attention,. After appreciating them for a good, long moment, he moved on to taking in the rest of her remarkable physique. He chuckled, darkly, as he allowed his eyes to roam freely over every muscle, every curve, every patch of skin that begged to be teased and abused and claimed.

With abrupt speed, Steve shot forward and gripped Natasha’s hip, his fingers bruisingly tight against her skin as he drew her near. “Straddle me,”he commanded.

Natasha obeyed, her legs straddling his as she lowered herself towards him, in compensation for the awkward position. His legs were spread out, relaxed, so Natasha had no choice but to spread hers further in accommodation, exposing herself, making herself so vulnerable-and then, abruptly, she felt Steve’s thick, calloused fingers spreading the lips of her pussy and beginning to stroke and explore her folds. She cried out and bucked her hips, trying to escape the unexpected intrusion, but of course this was a futile effort as she felt Steve’s one hand tighten her grip on her hip and his finger inching deeper within her, sliding easily along because of her own growing arousal. How readily her body betrayed her; she was as helpless to her body as she was to Steve. And of course, what he was saying and doing to her, _christ_ it felt good and wasn’t that the most degrading bit to it all?

No, the most deliciously degrading part came when she realized Steve was looking up at her, gauging her reactions as he moved his finger, exploring and stroking her as she whimpered above him, and he smiled. “Eager little tramp, aren’t you? No shame at all.”

Then he withdrew his hand abruptly, leaving her feeling surprisingly bereft. “No more for you, little whore, not before you’ve earned it. On your knees.”

 _On your knees._ His words registered in Natasha’s brain, but she must have been too slow to comply, because suddenly, his broad hand brought a stinging slap against her ass, cracking against her flesh painfully. “I said _on your knees._ If I have to tell you again, you’ll be punished, and I’d hate to do that _before_ I even have a chance to fuck you silly.”

Now she knew better than to disobey, so she sank to her knees.

“Much better,” Steve said to her, reaching out to stroke her soft hair and run his fingers through it. The gentle gesture was short-lived, however, as he tightened his grip on her locks and jerked her head forward. “You know what to do.”

Of course she knew what to do, and with trembling fingers, she undid his belt, tugged his trousers down, and then his boxers. Freed from its confines, Steve’s cock came to full attention, swollen with red, angry lust. Natasha eyed it for a moment, assessing its length and girth and wondering just how she’d accommodate it.

Steve’s fingers tightened around her head once more, and Natasha had no choice but to lean in and accept the cock that was now thrusting at her lips. Obediently she parted her lips, and Steve thrust past them, scarcely giving her a chance to grow used to him. Then he was thrusting up as he pushed her head into his crotch, fucking her face and silently relishing the wet, tight warmth of her mouth--his resolve to go gently broke when he hit the back of her throat and he felt her instinctively struggle, but his hand kept her head locked firmly in place as his balls slapped against her chin. He groaned abruptly as he felt Natasha swallow and inhale through her nose, slowly calming and submitting to this fresh demand upon her. Faster and faster his hips thrust up into her face, faster and faster her head bobbed in time with his thrusts, and then--he practically snarled in heated lust as he ejaculated, shooting a hot, bitter spurt of his come into her mouth and down her throat. He held her head in place, forcing her to swallow it all, her lips still wrapped around his cock in a beautifully obscene tableaux that made Steve so very, very grateful for this modern century and its lack of inhibitions.

A moment later, Steve came back to himself and gently released Natasha’s head. “You did well, little pet.”

“Thank you, sir.”

 _Even better._ Steve allowed her a pleased smile. “Now you get your reward. Straddle me again.”

This time she obeyed readily, hoisting herself up into Steve’s lap and spreading her own legs as wide as his were, and she let out a small hiss of pleasure as Steve fingered his way back into her pussy, resuming his previous explorations. This time, his finger went deeper, higher, twisting more and causing Nat to squirm and whimper, and goddamn if that wasn’t the hottest thing he had heard in a very long time. He watched her as she began to get caught up in the sensations building within her, and then he hit just the right point. With his other hand, he gripped tightly to her hip, steadying her as he intensified his assault--first flicking lazily, almost painfully at her clit, then dragging his finger across it--and then, keeping his thumb relentlessly pressed to her clit, he slid two fingers into her pussy. Natasha’s squirms turned to full-on hip-bucking against Steve’s hand, trying to take in more of his hand to fill in the continued, hollow burning within her. Steve smiled and began pumping his fingers, setting a steady pace that Natasha easily kept up with--until, suddenly, she leaned into Steve, buried her face into the juncture of his neck and shoulder, and let out a muted wail as she climaxed around his fingers. He continued stroking into her, though, not freeing her until the strongest of her shudderings had subsided. Her wail had reduced itself to a whimpering, and this she tried to silence by biting, hard, at Steve’s shoulder.

A minute or two later, when she had finally regained control of herself, Steve looked up at her and smiled with almost lazy affection. “Took the edge off, didn’t it?”

Wordlessly, Natasha nodded, at least a little overcome by the events that had unfolded so quickly. “Thank you--sir,” she added as she felt Steve’s fingers tighten on her skin in warning.

“For you, little pet, anything.” Steve thrust his hips upward, suggestively, a silent promise of what was to come. “I’ve got _so_ much I want to do to you, and I’ll be keeping you up until I’m done. Back on your knees.”

It was delightful to Steve, and surprising to Natasha, how readily she obeyed him, sliding off his lap and back onto the floor. As soon she had shifted off of him, he rose to his feet. For a moment, they remained fixed in that scene: Natasha kneeling, naked and vulnerable, her head bowed and her eyes locked on the floor, and Steve standing above her. His cock was already growing hard again.

“On your feet, little pet,” he told her. “Walk ahead of me to my room--it’s the door at the end of the hall.”

Again, she accepted his orders readily, and Steve found himself nodding in approval, even as his cock grew even harder as he began to formulate the other orders he’d be giving to her. God, if he had known that this was what it would take to bring her into line, he would have done it months ago.

 

* * *

 

As she made her way down the hall, Natasha was extremely conscious of Steve as he followed closely behind her. He didn’t say a word--but he didn’t have to. His presence was palpable; Natasha found herself shivering in anticipation more than once, although at no point before she reached his bedroom door did he touch her.

Determined not to show even a moment’s hesitation, she opened the door and stepped into Steve Rogers’ bedroom.

At first glance, it seemed an innocuous enough room--the lights were dimmed, but she could still tell that it was a room as spacious as her own. The furniture was good, solid oak, the walls painted a deep blue. All seemed fairly straightforward.

At first glance.

Natasha’s eyes darted about, taking in more details that, each considered on their own, wouldn’t mean much: a rather plain, straight-backed chair, not unlike a dining room chair, tucked into a corner. A heavy-duty bolt  in the ceiling.  More than a couple of mirrors placed around the room--

Her scrutiny was interrupted, abruptly, and fittingly, by the sound of the door closing as Steve stepped into the room behind her. Just as abruptly, he seized hold of her and drew her against him, her back to his chest, and his hands were like a vise, exploring her body in ways that rendered her vulnerable at the same time that they tantalized her into potent, heady arousal. He had one hand at the juncture of where her jaw met her throat, tilting her head to one side so he has the ability to nip and suckle at the smooth skin there. His other hand was at her breasts, moving from one to the other, fondling them, lightly teasing the nipples until they were hard, responsive pebbles. He made a pleased noise before he began rolling her nipples between his fingers, and then as he heard her breath quicken slightly, he smiled and begins to tug, first gently, and then not so gently.

“I think you like that, little pet, don’t you?” he whispered in her ear.  “You like it when I play with those gorgeous tits of yours? Like it when I give you a little pain? Or maybe--” he gave the nipple of her right breast a very brief twist -- “You like a lot of pain?” She cried out at that, but there was a ragged edge of desire in her voice that Steve didn’t fail to catch.

“Last chance,” he told her. “You’ve got one more shot to walk out that door. If you don’t, then that’s it. You’re mine.”

With her heart pounding in her throat, Natasha wasn’t sure where she found the wherewithal to utter the words. “Then I’m yours.”

Instead of this answer pleasing him, turning him on like she thought it would, Steve let out a low growl and gripped her throat “I’m yours _, Sir._ I thought you agreed to that?”

Without waiting for her to answer, he gripped her upper arm and hauled her over to the bed, unceremoniously shoving her down onto it. “Close your eyes,” he told her sharply. “And put your hands behind your back, your wrists crossed over each other.”

There was no doubt where this was going. Natasha obeyed readily, and soon felt a soft cloth being tied around her eyes and head. A blindfold, then, followed by what felt like ropes, securing her wrists behind her. A moment later, she felt Steve’s hands guiding her, and she felt herself laid down upon his lap, her torso supported by his thighs.

A second later, the implications of her position registered, but before she could ask, move, protest, do anything, Steve brought his hand down against her ass with a blistering-hard slap. It was surprisingly painful, an almost-overwhelming sensation that made Natasha shriek as she took in the blow. And yet...another smack, and then another, and another, the blows falling too quickly for her to do anything other than try to struggle away. But even her struggles soon ceased when she felt Steve’s hands cease their blows, at least momentarily. One of his hands lightly ghosted over her now-hot, still-stinging ass, petting it lazily, and with his other hand, he reached underneath her and began to explore down to her pussy once more.

His chuckle was very close to mocking. “God, you’re soaking wet. You really do like this.” Suddenly, he slapped her ass again, and actually laughed as he felt more of her arousal coat itself around his fingers. “What do you like? You like the pain?” Another slap. “Or you like being helpless in my hands like this?” Another slap, this time harder, and Steve’s fingers were completely slick from her juices. “You like feeling me get you like this? You’re a little whore for this.” He began to stroke her pussy again, rhythmically,  at the same time as he was raining more blows down upon her now-red, sore ass, taunting her as she grew wetter and wetter with each of the blows.

And then, suddenly, he stopped. Natasha heard a soft moan, and realized it was _her,_ protesting this. But she felt Steve’s arms encasing her, lifting her off his lap and transferring her to the bed, laying her down on her belly. A moment later, he untied her wrists, and then her blindfold. As the cloth slipped away from Natasha’s face, she rolled over on her side, and  saw that her eyes have very little adjusting to do; Steve had dimmed the lights further, and she saw his body, practically glowing in the ambient lighting--despite the dimness, she could still make out all of the details perfectly--the uncompromising definition of the muscles, the set of his jaw, the strangely fierce glow in his eyes.

“I want you to see me when I fuck you senseless,” he said, and Natasha couldn’t help it, she actually _groaned_ at these words. “I want to see the look in your eyes when you realize what I’m gonna do to you. I want to see you as you try to figure out how you can take it all.”

He leaned in then and captured her mouth, not giving her a chance to say anything, his lips branding hers, his tongue teasing, dancing, into her mouth, chasing away any protest that may have been lingering. Not that there was; Natasha was too far gone, imprisoned by these crazy fucking desires more effectively than by any of Steve’s physical actions. Their mouths were hungry, devouring each other, and while she put up a good struggle, it was always, ultimately, Steve who claimed the upper hand, pulling away every now and then and leaving her gasping, her lips swollen and bruised from the assault upon them, but always, always begging for more. And who was he to deny? He dipped back in, and that time, his teeth worried at her lower lip just a little, nipping and tugging, and he relished the feel of the tender flesh at his mercy. But it still wasn’t enough--he could fuck her and torture her and tease her with his tongue all night, and it wouldn’t be enough--

“ _Christ_ Nat,” he groaned, and without warning, he shifted his weight and hers so that she went from on her side to on her back. He felt her hands snaking their way to his head, no doubt to deepen the latest kiss, but he caught them. And then, guided her arms so that they were stretched out, and then, pressing her wrists together, caught them in one of his hands. He smiled faintly as her eyes widened.

“You know what I’m thinking, little pet, don’t you?” He pressed her wrists down into the mattress at the same time that he admired how her breasts seemed to obligingly stretch out, exposed as they were by her body’s position. He brought his other hand trailing up her belly before catching one of her nipples between his fingers. “I’m thinking how good it feels to have you pinned down underneath me, your body here for me to take whatever I want. And I think you _like_ that.” He moved his hand from her breast down to her pussy, and yes, she was as wet as she had been before. “I think you must really want to be held down and fucked. I think you’re ready for it. I think you need it.”

She felt his cock, pressing up against her thigh, and she thanked God that she was so wet and aroused.  Steve was generously endowed, and whether it was simply genetics, or how the dice rolled, or the serum, was completely irrelevant when his thick, long cock was _that close_ to thrusting into her.

“Ready for me, baby?” Steve asked, but it was a mere courtesy--without waiting for an answer, he began to slide into her, slowly, slowly working his cock, now weeping with pre-cum, inside the soft, slick, deliciously hot folds of her pussy. He kept his eyes on her as he continued his inexorable invasion, watching as her pupils dilated with what could only be lust. “God, you feel good,” he whispered, and that was about the last reassuring thing he was able to get out of his mouth before he thrust, hard, driving into her and letting her take _all_ of him. He could tell by her surprised cry that this was a rather daunting task--hell, he knew better than anyone how big he was--but that didn’t stop him. It _couldn’t_ stop him; she felt too damned good, and the way she moaned told him she felt the same about him.

For her part, Natasha was amazed by her own body, by the wanton way it complied with Steve’s unrelenting desires. But more than that, she was amazed by her own desire to comply. Even now, as he was invading her, filling her, drawing more arousal from her, all she could think of was _more._ She wanted the feel of his cock stretching her out, wanted the feel of him pinning her down, making her take all of it. So she forced her limbs to go loose, allowed them to feel Steve’s strength rather than their own, and _christ._ Even this slight mental shift was profound, and she let out a truly hedonistic moan that triggered something in Steve, something primal and animalistic, and he snarled and really let go. He hammered away at her, caught in the abandon of his own fierce lust, and yet, ever mindful of the all-too-human body trapped beneath him. While he kept her wrists pinned down with one hand, he used his other hand to tease her, stroke her clit, coax her to an orgasm. But still, he was the first to climax, shooting a load of hot come into her and groaning in quiet triumph. A moment later, she followed, and he smiled, pleased. “Good little pet.”

But he didn’t pull out, not right away; he was loathe to relinquish the sensation ofher body pinned underneath him. So instead, he leaned further into her, resting his upper body’s weight on his elbows so as not to crush her, and allowed himself to revel in the feeling of her smooth skin, soft curves, and hard muscles. He felt her heart pounding against her breast, heard the gentle huffs of air as she slowed her breathing, and impulsively, he pressed his forehead against hers--a curiously tender, intimate gesture, completely at odds with their previous behavior. Still, Steve knew the responsibility that came with the power he held over her, and so, with a soft kiss to her forehead, he reluctantly pulled out--and chuckled as he heard her faint protest.

“I’ll be back in a minute, little pet.”

 

* * *

 

When Steve returned a few moments later, he did so with such stealth that, when he touched Natasha’s shoulder, she gave a little start. Smiling sheepishly, she hoisted herself into a sitting position and accepted the glass of water he passed to her. “I’m not normally so easy to startle.”

Steve sat back down bed and gave her a knowing smile. “Feeling a little relaxed, are we?”

“Yes…sir,” she added hastily, as she saw Steve’s look turn hard for a moment. So they were still in this mode, were they? _Good._ Natasha found herself surprised to realize how little she wanted this evening to end. What she had done with Steve--hell, what he had done _to_ her--was so far out of the realm of her usual personal sexual encounters. Usually she kept them strictly un-work-related, and if there was an unequal distribution of power, the excess was usually on her side. So for her to put herself into Steve’s hands--literally--to allow him to take control, it seemed almost blasphemous. Or it would have, had it not felt so fucking good.

Momentarily distracted by these thoughts, Natasha stopped drinking her water. Steve noticed, and firmly guided the glass back up to her lips. “Drink,” he told her again. “We’ve got a long night ahead of us--unless you want to be done?”

It was that question, almost innocuous, that reassured Natasha more than anything. Even after the things Steve had said earlier--the un-fucking-believably _hot_ things Steve had said to her earlier--he was Steve, first and foremost. Their leader, their most trustworthy asset. Anything else--a master, a dom, a rogue soldier with a vigorous libido and a penchant for rough sex--he kept in check most of the time, and even now, a little bit.

“I’m fine, sir,” she said, and it was as much for her own sake as his. And to prove it, she decisively set the glass down on the nightstand, turned back to Steve, and practically launched herself into his lap. She settled in quite comfortably there, wrapping her legs around his torso before she went  to town on him, her kisses demanding and dirty and giving him the distinct impression that _she_ was now the person in control.

Just as she hoped, he played right into her hands.

“What’s this, little pet?” he managed to gasp out as he broke away from her. And then, unexpectedly, he knotted one of his hands into the hair towards the base of her neck and jerked her head back so she was looking up at him. “You think you’re calling the shots here?” He didn’t give her a chance to answer, but rather brought his lips back down onto hers, not gently but with a fierce, brutal need to feel her mouth open, to welcome and yield to him, to elicit whimpers from someplace deep within herself. And when she began whimpering, he moved from plundering her mouth to licking and sucking his way down her neck.

And wasn’t this interesting? As he began to suck a little harder, now drawing the soft skin at the juncture of her jaw into his teeth, none-too-gently worrying it, her soft whimpers turned to all-out moans of need. And as Steve continued this exploration, he was seized by a sudden inspiration.

“On your hands and knees,” he muttered, beginning to guide her off his lap. Natasha gave him a look of confusion, but obeyed nonetheless. She felt the mattress shift as Steve changed position--and then she froze as she felt Steve’s index finger begin to work its way into the cleft of her ass. Realization struck her a split second later, and her reaction came a moment after that.

“No!” she exclaimed, jerking away from Steve’s hand. And then, remembering his rules, “Red!”

It _should_ have been reassuring, how quickly Steve moved away from her, how smoothly his expression changed from intense desire to intense alarm.  “What is it? Nat? Talk to me.”

She couldn’t talk to him, not just yet. She was too busy trying to compose herself, trying to calm her breathing, trying to understand just where the hell that reaction came from. She watched as Steve looked at her for a moment, and then stretched out his hand, perhaps to reassure her somehow? Then he thought the better of it and instead handed her the water glass again. “Take another drink, Nat.” His voice carried all of the authority it always had, but there was kindness there, too, and this steadied Natasha’s nerves.

“I’m sorry,” she said, after a moment. She chanced a glance up at Steve, and saw his intense gaze--still lust-filled, but now intrigued and concerned, too. “It’s--I don’t...I mean, I haven’t done that in a _long_ time. A really long time.”

“And you have your reasons,” Steve stated. It was part prompt, part question, but Natasha wasn’t biting.

“I have my reasons.”

“You didn’t mention that when I asked you what your limits were.” It wasn’t a reproach, not exactly, but she could tell he was a little rattled. “If I did something you _really_ didn’t want me to do, and I didn’t know about it, this could go very badly.”

“I’m sorry, Steve,” Natasha whispered. “Maybe it’s not a...limit, as such. But something I’m ambivalent about? I mean, it’s a _thing_ with me, that’s obvious, but…”

“But?”

“But this is _you_ and…” Natasha cast about, helplessly, for the right words to frame the twisted logic she was currently trying to articulate.

Understanding dawned, and Steve nearly laughed at the simple solution before him. Instead: “Lay on your stomach, and spread your legs, little pet. You’re going to take me in the ass, and by the time I’m through, you’ll like it so much you’ll be begging for it all the time.”

It was a gamble, but the half-relieved, half-grateful look that Nat gave him told him it was the right gamble to take. He turned on his side and propped himself up on one elbow, making room for Nat to lay herself down beside him. Once she seemed settled, he leaned in and paved a trail of soft kisses down her neck and back, stopping just as he hit the small of her back. Then he brought his mouth back to her neck and began to talk in a low, yet potent voice.

“I’m going to make this so good for you, little pet.” He felt her body tremble a little. “Trust me, I’m going to make it feel amazing for you, and it’s going to feel good for me, too, _so good._ I can’t wait to feel your tight little ass clenching around my dick.  You were made for my cock and it _is_ perfect for your ass.  By the time I’m done stretching you out and filling you up and fucking you into the mattress, you’re going to want this all the time. You’re going to be such a little whore for this, I promise you.  I’ll have you on your hands and knees every night just begging for this.”  He leaned over to bite down on her shoulder, hard, feeling her body shake at the pressure.  

He began to slide his hand under her body and coaxed her to lift her hips a little. Once she did and he was able to work his fingers into her pussy and feel how incredibly _wet_ she was he chuckled darkly. “Look at this...you said you weren’t sure about letting me claim your ass but it looks like your body wants this plenty.  You’re dripping, Natasha.  Can you feel it?  Taste it.”  He pulled his fingers out and shoved them into her mouth, groaning when she wrapped her tongue around his digits and sucked, the perfect amount of teeth, tongue, and suction to send shivers down his spine.  When he was content with how much attention she’d given him, he pulled his fingers back out and moved them back into her cunt, wetter than ever with the mix of her saliva and arousal.  “Your body’s already anticipating my dick spreading you wide open, fucking your ass so hard...you want it, Natasha, my girl, but more than that you _need_ it.”

With his finger slicked up with her juices, he resumed the approach he had begun before, and gently, slowly, worked his index finger into her ass. She wasn’t kidding--judging by how tight she was, it _had_ been a while. So he slowly worked away at her, stretching her out little by little, using her own arounsal to ease his penetration.

As he slid a second finger inside her, he felt, rather than heard, her quick intake of air, and he certainly felt the clutch of her skin and muscles against his fingers. “It’s alright, beautiful little pet,” he told her, more softly than either of them expected. “Relax your body, let go for me.” He felt the responding looseness work its way through her limbs as she struggled to follow his words. “Good girl, you’re so good for me, and I’m going to reward you. You’re going to love what I do to you.” He kept talking as he slowly pumped two fingers into her, stretching her out; the only time he paused in speaking to her was when he’d lean over, and press his reassuring weight into her, and kiss her neck, and shoulders, and back. The slow, gentle seduction, peppered with his firm instructions and guidance, were at odds with their previous, rougher explorations.

But Steve’s cock was rock-hard, and as he began to quicken his hand’s thrust into her, he felt her hips began to buck backwards into his touch. “Look at that,” he whispered, and he doesn’t try to hide how pleased he is, both with himself and Natasha. “Look at you, already trying to get more from me. I told you you’d like this. You’re so good, Nat.” He scissored his fingers, stretching her even wider, and smiled at her breathy moan. Judging by that moan, and the way her body seemed to have overridden any reservations, she was ready. _Almost._ He withdrew his hand and reached over, stretching just a little to get to his nightstand. There, in a drawer, was the bottle of lube that he had made sure was in there. He pulled it out now and poured a liberal amount on his hand. He gave it a moment for it to warm up in his hand before he went back into her cleft and began working the lube slowly, so slowly into her. Feeling her hips buck towards him once more, Steve smiled. She wasn’t going to be much more ready than that. And so he smeared some more lube, generously, over his cock, and then, gently, he placed a hand on her hip. It only took a little, soft pressure of his hand on her hip for him to coax her up so that she was kneeling on the bed, leaning her weight onto her elbows, presenting her perfect ass to him like a beautiful gift, waiting for him to plunder.

It was nearly enough to bring Steve to the brink of losing his control. But with a deep inhalation and a deliberate pause, he held himself back from what he wanted to do, which was thrust his cock into her with wild abandon, and lose himself in the blissful sensation of her too-tight, narrow passage yielding to his intrusion, and instead, he slowly lined his hips up against hers and began a slow, yet assured slide into Nat. Her body quivered under his hands, and he felt her sharp gasp of air as he first entered her, and then the almost immediate, breathy sigh that followed.

He leaned forward, bringing his mouth close to her ear, his lips just brushing at the shell. “Color?”

“Green.” Her voice was soft, but there was no hesitation. And then, as he pushed in a little further, he caught the soft skin of her earlobe in his teeth and gave a slightly-less-than-gentle tug, elicting a moan from her. It wasn’t enough to get him to relinquish the iron-grip he had on his own urges, but he did hasten his entrance a little more. She was adjusting to him, he could tell--the tension was leaving her body, little by little, the deeper he went, and _oh christ._ “God, you feel fucking incredible,” he whispered. “You’re still so tight, do you know what that does to me? How much I just want to fuck this beautiful ass of yours?”

“Show me.”

Suddenly, Steve pulled out. It was so abrupt that Natasha actually let out a soft protest of bereft surprise, but this changed to a surprised cry when she the sharp slap he brought down on her ass. “Show you, _what?”_ he challenged her, his voice a low growl. “What are you supposed to call me?” He slapped her ass again, the other cheek this time.

“Show me, sir!” Natasha choked out. “I’m sorry, sir. Please show me what you want.”

It was all the incentive he needed. With a chuckle, he said softly, “I told you I’d have you begging for this.”

This time, when he returned to the task at hand, there was no slow entrance, no coaxing. This time, he thrust into Natasha more forcefully, his hands gripping her hips, his fingers already leaving bruises, which they both knew would linger a few days. This time, Steve did pound into Natasha, and good god,she felt incredible, a tight, vise-like heat on his cock. And Steve’s dominance and desire were heady, almost tangible to Natasha, who felt as though she was protected by them, even as she sacrificed her body and free will to them.

When Steve’s fingers reached around and found her clit--already swollen and throbbing--and began lightly rubbing, stroking, circling, using her juices to further tease and stimulate the sensitive little bud--Natasha’s keening cry was a beautiful sound, and she thrust her hips back against Steve’s. Her enthusiasm, her tightness, her own approaching ecstasy, were all enough to urge Steve forward to his own release, and as his orgasm exploded, he leaned in once more and bit Natasha’s shoulder, hard. This was all the encouragement Natasha needed, and then she was crying out beneath him, her body shuddering and splintering as she felt like she had fallen off a cliff and shattered into a thousand fragments, each of them jagged and perfect.

 

 

* * *

 

As morning light began to creep its way into Steve’s bedroom, it revealed a very tawdry and suggestive scene indeed. More than one piece of furniture was either overturned, or else in a slightly different position. Bedding and pillows, as well as various articles of clothing, were strewn around the floor. But it was the figures on the bed who bore the most damning evidence--they were both naked, of course, and their bodies bore several telltale signs of a night vigorously spent. Bruises and even a scratch or two peppered both of their skins, and their hair was tellingly touseled.

Both of them looked suitably well-fucked.

Steve stirred first, but Natasha, sensing him awaken, followed right after. He sat up, but she remained supine.

“Good morning,” Steve said pleasantly, sounding for all the world they were greeting eachother over coffee and cornflakes.

“Good morning,” Natasha answered, and while her words were polite, there was a guarded tone in her voice. Steve heard it and knew just what to do, leaning in and pressing a hard, demanding kiss against her mouth. After a moment, he pulled back and reminded her, “Still on my floor. You still call me sir.” He kissed her again, and then he whispered, “Time to try to drive that lesson home again.”

Their coupling was quick and frantic that time, and when they pulled apart, the sense of urgency didn’t go away. They both knew why, but Natasha, brave woman that she was, was the first to voice it.

“It’s almost nine,” she said quietly.

“I know. Didn’t you have a meeting with Hill and Sitwell at eleven?”

Natasha sighed. “Yes. And Fury wanted you to do some sort of meet-and-greet thing, didn’t he?”

So the real world encroached on them once more, and they became, once again, Agent Natasha Romanov and Captain Steve Rogers, each of them burdened with a hundred cares and responsibilities.

* * *

 

Steve walked Natasha to the elevator, and just before she stepped inside, he drew her back to him and kissed her once more--this time, it was a slow, lazy kiss, starting with just his mouth ghosting over hers, and then her lips parting, and then them both going deeper, demanding more, as they came closer to the hunger that had driven them together the night before.

 _“Enough,”_ Natasha groaned, and stepped into the elevator. But by then he had seen her dilated pupils, heard her ragged breathing, and recognized the same in himself. Natasha might be leaving his floor, but not for good. And on his floor or off, she was now his. And to prove it...

Just before the elevator doors slid closed, Steve asked, “Spar with me in the gym this evening?” The look he gave her clearly stated that they wouldn’t just be _sparring_ in the gym.

Natasha smiled provocatively. “Sounds like a plan...sir.”

 

**The End. Maybe.**

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many thanks to T0bemadeofglass for her help with this story. And many thanks to those who read the whole way through. This was meant to be an abbreviated and less fluffy version of a longer fic that I am working on, but something tells me that maybe I'll just let this stand on its own. Not sure about a sequel...let me know your thoughts...or requests, if you have 'em.
> 
> Thanks again!


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